The Dublin Detective (13 page)

“A day, if we push,” Clint said. “We'll spend the night here, rest the horses, get a good meal, and start out early in the morning.”

Clint saw McBeth wince, as if in pain.

“Why don't you fellows go and get us some rooms,” Clint suggested. “McBeth you look like you could use some rest.”

“I'm okay, but yes, some rest would be nice.”

“How about a doctor?” Clint asked. “This town's got to have one.”

“He'll want to remove the bullet,” McBeth said. “I don't have time for that right now.”

“What are you gonna do while we get rooms?” Weaver asked.

“I'm going to talk to the local law,” Clint said, “see if they know anything about the robbery that wasn't in the paper.”

“When do we eat?”

“When I finish with the sheriff, I'll come over. We can eat then.”

“Good,” Weaver said, “I'm starvin'.”

As they started for the door, Clint let McBeth go first, then grabbed Weaver's arm.

“See if you can get him to lie down until I get there,” he said in a low voice.

“Yeah, okay,” Weaver said.

They walked out, found McBeth waiting on the boardwalk.

“Try that hotel over there,” Clint said, pointing. It was the nearest and looked pretty big. “I'll find the sheriff's office.”

“Don't take long,” Weaver said. “I'm hungry.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Clint said. “I'll be over in about fifteen minutes, give or take.”

They parted company. Clint decided to waste some time to give McBeth a little more rest. Weaver's appetite would just have to wait.

Sheriff Hack Yarborough didn't know much more than had been in the newspaper. “All I know is I got a telegram warning me that they may be coming this way,” he told Clint.

“Not likely,” Clint said.

“Why not?”

“Because we've been tracking them since Mexico,” Clint said. “The one direction I don't think they'd go is back south.”

“Well, that's good news to me,” the sheriff said. “Can't say I want to deal with some murderin' bank robbers.”

“Have you got deputies?”

The man ran a hand through his steel gray hair. His eyes looked weary.

“I've got two inexperienced men,” he said. “Good help's hard to come by these days. Seems young men ain't in a hurry to become a badge toter. Not like when we were young.”

“It was a different job then.”

“That's right,” the sheriff said. “I heard you wore a badge for a while.”

“That was years ago,” Clint said.

“Yeah, well, I'm thinkin' of takin' it off myself,” the man said. “What's your interest anyway?”

“I'm tracking them with a couple of colleagues,” Clint said.

“You huntin' bounty now?”

“Not exactly,” Clint said. “One of the men I'm riding with is a lawman from Ireland. He's tracked Dolan all the way across the ocean.”

“Well, I wish you luck then,” the sheriff said. “Just see if you can herd them away from here.”

“Like I said, I don't think they're headed this way, but I'll see what we can do to make sure. Much obliged for your time.”

“No trouble,” the man said, “which is what I'm ex-pectin' from you while you're here.”

“You won't get any trouble from me, Sheriff,” Clint said. “We'll be out of here early tomorrow morning. All we want tonight is a meal and a bed.”

“Enjoy 'em both,” the sheriff said.

 

“We only got two rooms, so I bunked in with McBeth,” Weaver said, meeting Clint in the lobby. “That's how I know he's sound asleep.”

“Let's leave him then,” Clint said. “He needs the sleep. We'll bring something back for him to eat.”

“Suits me,” Weaver said.

They stepped back outside, looked both ways, and actually followed their noses to a nearby restaurant called The Harvest. It was dinner time and many of the tables were taken. Clint and Weaver got stuck with a table in the center of the room, which made Clint uncomfortable for more than one reason, not the least of which was it made them—as strangers—the center of attention.

They each ordered a steak dinner and a cold beer with it. Weaver had been enjoying the cold brew wherever they stopped.

“Was the sheriff able to tell you anythin'?” Weaver asked.

“Only that he hoped the Dolan Gang wasn't headed this way.”

“And you think they ain't?”

“No,” Clint said, “that'd be coming back the way they came. They're going to keep going.”

“And what're we gonna do?”

“Keep tracking them,” Clint said. “Or at least keep following. This is the closest we've been. Maybe we'll find out something in Fort Hampton that will actually allow us to track them.”

“And when we catch up to them?”

“Then McBeth does what he came to this country to do,” Clint said. “We'll turn the others over to the law.”

“You're gonna let him kill this man Dolan?”

“That's his business, Ben,” Clint said. “I'm just here to help him, and you're here to help me.”

“But what's he gonna do, just kill 'im? That's against the law, Clint—”

“And you're not wearing a badge anymore, Weaver,” Clint said, “so upholding the law is not your job.”

“Well,” Weaver said, chewing on his steak, “I don't know if I'm gonna be able to stand by and watch him kill a man in cold blood.”

“I really don't think that's going to be a problem, Ben.”

“So you ain't gonna let him kill 'im?”

“No,” Clint said, “but I think they'll pretty much be trying to kill each other, so we're not going to have to worry about cold blood.”

McBeth slept through the night and woke up ravenous. Over steak and eggs at the same restaurant he demanded, “Why'd you let me sleep?”

“You needed it,” Clint told him.

“I think I could eat a damned horse this mornin',” he complained.

Clint and Weaver just had ham and eggs and watched the Irishman destroy two plates of steak and eggs. While he was eating, Clint told him what he was planning.

“We ride like hell for Fort Hampton, try to pick up the trail from there.”

“That sounds good to me,” McBeth said. “This is the closest I've been to the bastard in three months. The faster we move the better.”

“There's one thing,” Clint said.

“What's that?”

“I can move faster than the two of you,” Clint said, “even if you weren't wounded.”

“With that horse?” Weaver asked. “I'd say so.”

“You want to go ahead of us?” McBeth asked.

“That's right,” Clint said. “I'll leave a clear trail for you to follow.”

Weaver and McBeth exchanged a look.

“Sounds good to me,” Weaver said.

McBeth remained silent.

“You want him dead, right?” Clint asked.

“Yes.”

“Does it matter to you who kills him?”

“Yes, it bloody well does,” McBeth said. “I wouldn't have come all this way if it didn't.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “okay. I'll just locate them, then double back and find the two of you. Then we'll go and get them.”

“How's that?” Weaver asked McBeth.

“It sounds better,” the Irishman admitted.

“Okay, then,” Clint said, standing up. “Finish eating and I'll get started.”

Weaver stood up

“I'll come along, saddle the horses.” He looked at McBeth. “Then come back and get you.”

“Fine,” McBeth said. “I'll finish up here and be ready.”

“How are you feeling, McBeth?” Clint asked.

“Actually,” McBeth said, “I'm feeling pretty strong.”

“Good,” Clint said, “because it's going to be a hard ride from here.”

 

Clint rode hell-bent for leather to Fort Hampton. With Eclipse moving like the wind, he got there a full two hours before Weaver and McBeth could possibly make it.

He rode straight to the sheriff's office, entered like his ass was on fire.

“Whoa, whoa, friend,” the lawman said. The sheriff stood up, topping six three easily, with a shock of gray hair standing up on his head, adding a few inches. There was a deputy there, who almost pulled his gun.

“Take it easy, Jed,” the sheriff said, stopping the deputy with a wave of a big hand. “Friend, I'm Sheriff Bez. What's on your mind?”

“Sheriff, two colleagues and I have been tracking the Dolan Gang for months,” Clint said. “We heard they robbed your bank.”

“About four days ago,” the sheriff said. “Killed two people.”

“Have you been out looking for them?”

“I had a posse out for two days,” the lawman said. “Most of them had to come back after that.”

“You quit after that?”

Bez bristled.

“
Quit
ain't the word I'd use,” he said gruffly.

“I'm sorry,” Clint said. “I didn't mean any offense. We've just been after them for a long time.”

“You and who else?”

“I'm riding with a man who followed Dolan here from Ireland.”

“He must want him pretty bad.”

“Real bad.”

“Well, I'm pretty sure they're out of the county by now. We did manage to find a camp of theirs, but not much else.”

“Can you take me to that camp?” Clint asked. “Give me some idea what direction they were heading when you . . . broke off your pursuit?”

“Sure,” Bez said, “I can do that. Don't see why not.”

“Now?”

“Don't you want to rest?” the lawman asked. “Looks like you rode pretty hard to get here.”

“I did,” Clint said, “but this is the closest we've been in three months.”

“Okay,” Bez said, grabbing his hat. “I'll saddle up. Jed, you hang around here. You're in charge.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'll get my horse and meet you in front of the Big Thicket Saloon. You look like you could use a beer.”

“I could,” Clint said. “I'll meet you there.”

Clint went into the Big Thicket Saloon and had a cold beer. He was standing out in front of the saloon when the sheriff rode up.

“That's an impressive horse,” the lawman said.

“Got me here in no time from Silverton,” Clint said proudly.

“Where are your partners?” the sheriff asked.

“They're coming,” Clint said, patting Eclipse's neck. “They couldn't keep up. I want to locate the gang as soon as I can.”

“Well, you're still gonna have some ridin' to do,” Bez said, “but I'll take you to the campsite we found. Maybe it'll tell you somethin' it didn't tell me.”

“I hope so.”

Clint and Sheriff Bez rode into the cold camp. While Clint dismounted, the sheriff remained in the saddle and kept a sharp eye out.

Clint walked the camp, studying the ground. He went over to where the horses had been picketed, hoping to find something distinctive in the tracks.

“Anythin'?” Sheriff Bez asked.

Clint stood with his hands on his hips, spoke while he continued to study the ground.

“I'm not finding anything about these horse's tracks, but . . .” He stopped and walked over to the cold fire.

“What is it?”

Clint held up a hand to ask the sheriff to be patient a moment. He studied the boot prints the men left behind and found what he was looking for.

“One of these fellows has worn down his left boot heel on the inside,” Clint said. “Probably favors it when he walks.”

“Can you use that to track a man?” Bez asked.

“Long as he gets off his horse from time to time,” Clint said. “And a man's got to do that to keep his ass from getting stuck to the saddle.”

“So you got somethin' you can use.”

“Looks like.”

Clint mounted up.

“Can you take me to where you broke off the pursuit?” he asked.

“County line,” the lawman said. “Just a few miles from here.”

 

When they reached the county line, Bez said, “My best guess is they continued to ride east.”

“They keep going that way, they'll hit Louisiana,” Clint said.